ubborn, anyhow. What's the next case?"

Gerhardt made his way over to his boy, abashed and yet very glad it
was no worse. Somehow, he thought, he could raise the money. Sebastian
looked at him solicitously as he came forward.

"It's all right," said Bass soothingly. "He didn't give me half a
chance to say anything."

"I'm only glad it wasn't more," said Gerhardt nervously. "We will
try and get the money."

Going home to his wife, Gerhardt informed the troubled household of
the result. Mrs. Gerhardt stood white and yet relieved, for ten
dollars seemed something that might be had. Jennie heard the whole
story with open mouth and wide eyes. It was a terrible blow to her.
Poor Bass! He was always so lively and good-natured. It seemed awful
that he should be in jail.

Gerhardt went hurriedly to Hammond's fine residence, but he was not
in the city. He thought then of a lawyer by the name of Jenkins, whom
he knew in a casual way, but Jenkins was not at his office. There were
several grocers and coal merchants whom he knew well enough, but he
owed them money. Pastor Wundt might let him have it, but the agony
such a disclosure to that worthy would entail held him back. He did
call on one or two acquaintances, but these, surprised at the unusual
and peculiar request, excused themselves. At four o'clock he returned
home, weary and exhausted.

"I don't know what to do," he said despairingly. "If I could only
think."

Jennie thought of Brander, but the situation had not accentuated
her desperation to the point where she could brave her father's
opposition and his terrible insult to the Senator, so keenly
remembered, to go and ask. Her watch had been pawned a second time,
and she had no other means of obtaining money.

The family council lasted until half-past ten, but still there was
nothing decided. Mrs. Gerhardt persistently and monotonously turned
one hand over in the other and stared at the floor. Gerhardt ran his
hand through his reddish brown hair distractedly. "It's no use," he
said at last. "I can't think of anything."

"Go to bed, Jennie," said her mother solicitously; "get the others
to go. There's no use their sitting up I may think of something. You
go to bed."

Jennie went to her room, but the very thought of repose was
insupportable. She had read in the paper, shortly after her father's
quarrel with the Senator, that the latter had departed for Washington.
There had been no notice of his return. Still he